In
this book excerpt, Papaji describes what happened
when he asked Ramana Maharshi to show him God.
Sri Ramana said God cannot be seen, but as he
spoke, Papaji's heart center opened.

By
DAVID GODMAN

SHORTLY
AFTER MY RETURN [home] a sadhu appeared
at our door, asking for food. I invited him in,
offered him some food and asked him the question
that was uppermost in my mind. 'Can you show me
God? If not, do you know of anyone who can?' Much
to my surprise he gave me a positive answer. 'Yes,
I know a person who can show you God. If you go
and see that man, everything will be all right
for you. His name is Ramana Maharshi.'

Not
having heard of him before, I asked where he lived
and was told, 'Sri Ramanasramam, Tiruvannamalai'.
Since I had never heard of the place either, I asked
him for directions to get there.

He
gave me detailed instructions: 'Take a train to
Madras. When you get to Madras, go to Egmore station.
That is where the metre gauge trains leave from.
Take a train from there to a place called Villupuram.
You have to change trains there. Then catch a
train from there to Tiruvannamalai.'

I
wrote all these details down with mixed feelings.
I was very happy to hear that there was at least
one man in India who could show me God, but I
also knew that I had no means of getting to see
him. I had spent all the money I had saved from
my spell in the army on my unsuccessful pilgrimage,
and I knew that my father would not give me any
assistance. He disapproved of my spiritual trips,
feeling, with some justification, that I should
be devoting my time instead to supporting my family.

When
I told my father that I wanted to go to the South
to see yet one more swami, he exploded with anger.

'What
about your wife and children?' he demanded. 'Was
it not enough to leave the army that you must
now rush to the other end of India, indulging
in your mad search for spiritual adventures?'

Obviously,
no help would be forthcoming from that quarter.

Shortly
afterwards I went into town and happened to meet
one of my old friends. He was running a tea stall.

'I
haven't seen you for a long time,' he remarked.
'I heard a story that you resigned your commission
in the army.'

'Yes,'
I replied, 'I have given it up for good.'

'So
what are you doing now?' he enquired.

'Nothing,'
I answered. 'I am looking for some sort of job.'

Reprinted
with permission from Nothing Ever Happened Volume 1
By David Godman

The
definitive three-volume biography of
H.W.L. Poonja, known to his devotees
as Papaji.

"Having
just been reminded of my unemployed state, I turned
to the page that listed all the job advertisements."

'Well,
sit down,' he said. 'I will give you some milk to
drink.

Since
you are not employed at the moment, you don't
need to pay.'

I
sat down and began to glance through newspaper
that was lying on one of the tables. Having just
been reminded of my unemployed state, I turned
to the page that listed all the job advertisements.
One vacancy seemed to be tailor-made for me: 'Ex-army
officer required in Madras.' The British army
was looking for an ex-officer to manage all the
stores in a canteen that was being run for British
servicemen. I looked for the address to apply
to and found that the contractor who had placed
the advertisement was based in Peshawar, a nearby
city. I sent my application there, along with
a photo of myself in army uniform, and was immediately
engaged. Not only that, the contractor gave me
money to get to Madras and told me that I need
not report for duty for one month. I thus got
money to go to the Maharshi and an opportunity
to spend time in his presence before I reported
for work.

It
was 1944 and I was thirty-one years of age.

Papaji
in 1948, four years after the events described
here.

"I
was so annoyed with him I decided that I wouldn't
even go into the hall where he was sitting."

I
followed the sadhu's advice and travelled
by train to to Tiruvannamalai. On disembarking
there I discovered that the Maharshi's ashram
was about three kilometres away, on the other
side of the town, so I engaged a bullock cart
to take me and my belongings there. As soon as
we reached the ashram, I jumped out of the cart,
put my bags in the men's dormitory, and went off
to look for this man who could show me God. I
peeped in through his window and saw, sitting
on a sofa inside, the same man who had visited
my house in the Punjab. I was disgusted.

'This
man is a fraud,' I said to myself. 'He appears
in my house in the Punjab, tells me to go to Tiruvannamalai,
then hops on the train so that he can get there
before me.'

Sri
Ramana Maharshi

I
was so annoyed with him I decided that I wouldn't
even go into the hall where he was sitting. Mentally
adding him to the long list of frauds I had met
on my first pilgrimage around India, I turned on
my heels and went off to collect my bags.

As
I was preparing to leave on the same cart that
had brought me to the ashram, one of the residents
accosted me and asked, 'Aren't you from the North?
You look like a North Indian.'

I
found out later that he was called Framji and
that he owned a cinema in Madras.

'Yes,
I am,' I replied.

'Haven't
you just arrived?' he asked, noting that I was
making preparations to leave. 'Aren't you going
to stay here for at least a couple of days?'

I
told him the story of how I had come to be in
Tiruvannamalai, and concluded by saying, 'This
man has been travelling around the country, advertising
himself. I don't want to see him. I came here
because he said there was a man here who could
show me God. If this man really does have the
capacity to show me God, why did he not do it
in my house in the Punjab when he came to see
me? Why did he make me come all this way? I am
not interested in seeing such a man.'